Of Royals and Men
by Tamealio
Summary: Prince Clinton Francis Barton, the prince of America, is faced with an impossible decision. In the next ten years, the eight year old prince is expected to narrow thirty-two princesses from kingdoms around the globe down to one. Seems easy right? Did we mention that the last princess will be his bride? Rated T because I'm paranoid
1. Of Royals and Men: Prolog

Of Royals and Men: Prolog

Nick sighed. It had been a long and happy life. He had seen what he had wanted to see and he had done what he had wanted to do. He had seen his little boy grow up. He had seen his only child become a man and get married. His son was happy. Then he had seen his only grandson grow up and get married. He was happy too. Then he had witnessed the birth of his great granddaughter. Nick hoped he would live long enough to see her grow up and be happy as well. Esmeralda would have been so proud.

Now that Nick thought about it, it was kind of a miracle that everything had ended up this well. Looking back on it now, he would never have changed a thing.

A

_Flashback:_

The year was 2015. The world had just survived world war 3. The democracies were failing and the government leaders were rash imbeciles with no idea how to govern a country. After the war had ended, the people of America rose up and demanded a new government. During one particularly violent protest the Capital Building was stormed and the constitution was ripped in half.

The government was over thrown and the democracy was replaced by a monarchy. The country of America became the kingdom of America. Soon the rest of the nations around the world followed.

There was still tension between the Kingdoms though. The anger and resentment of war was not something one gets over quickly.

To try and bring the Kingdoms together, the Kings and Queens around the world devised a plan to bring the Kingdoms together and build a sense of trust. This plan was called _The Selection._ This plan stated that once a prince turned eight his parents would look at the other kingdoms around the globe and see what other kingdoms had a princess who was an eligible age for the selection. They would then pick thirty-two of these girls and notify their parents. If the Parents gave their consent, these Princesses would spend the next ten years of their summers, weekends, and any free time they had with the prince trying to win his heart. The prince would be required to eliminate three girls each year so that on the year of his eighteenth birthday, he would have two princesses left to choose from. The Princess he chooses would be his bride.

This system meant that a Prince from Taiwan could marry a Princess from Italy. Or a Princess from Poland could marry a Prince from South Africa. It created allies across the globe and brought forth a sense of unity as one world; each nation helping each other.

This system was still in place fifteen generations later when Prince Nicholas Fury assumed the throne of America. Prince Nicholas was the only child of the late King Andrew and Queen Victoria. He married a Princess by the name of Esmeralda. The new King Nicholas and Queen Esmeralda ruled happily over the land for two years before disaster struck.

The beautiful queen died two months after giving birth to the couple's only child. The grief stricken king could not bring himself to marry again and so the young prince was raised by his father. Nick decided to honor his wife and named the boy after her favorite Prince; Prince Philip from the Disney classic, _Sleeping Beauty._

"He's the only one who was actually given a name!" She always said

Prince Philip, Known as Phil by his wife and father, married a Princess named Maria. By this time Nick had had enough of ruling. It was stressful ruling a country, especially by yourself. Imagine having to simultaneously raise a child by yourself. Nick was ready to sit back and enjoy retirement.

A

So King Philip took the throne. While He and Queen Maria settled into their new positions and the kingdom was celebrating to welcome the new king and queen, a small family in the state of Iowa was having their own special celebration.

Eve Barton looked down at her new born son and smiled

"Welcome to the family, Clint"

A

Two years after Phil and Maria took the throne, the royal family ran into a little problem. Well, it was actually kind of a big problem. Maria couldn't have kids. Ever. The problem was that Maria's family had a genetic mutation that either prevented or made it nearly impossible to have children. The mutation had skipped Maria's mother, but apparently she wasn't so lucky.

The mutation was a problem because if you couldn't have kids, you couldn't produce heirs and thereby basically eliminating the royal bloodline. Queens who couldn't have kids could be tried for treason to the crown and killed. Phil, however, loved his wife dearly and would never dream of having her killed. At the same time though, the King needed an Heir to carry on his legacy. Nick and Phil had no idea what to do.

The situation solved its self when a tragedy struck a small town in Iowa. Eve Barton's Husband was driving the family home from diner at a friend's house late one night in December. Ice on the roads made driving incredibly risky. The car spun out of control and crashed into a forest. The accident killed Eve, her husband, and their four year old son, Barnie. Only her two year old son, Clint, survived, leaving the boy an orphan.

When the King and Queen heard about the tragedy, they quickly adopted the young boy, solving their problems of finding an heir and Clint's problem of finding a family. They raised Clint as their own and loved him dearly. But Clint was fast approaching the age of eight. What would they do then?

**A/N: Hey everybody! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of **_**Of Royals and Men.**_** Please review and comment. Sorry if this chapter was really long. The next two chapters are going to be extremely short so I should have them posted soon. They are just going to be some background info on what Clint and Natasha think being royal is like and a little bit about their past. I will do shout outs to the people who comment so contact me if you have any ideas on where I can take this story. Also in case you haven't realized it King Nicholas=Nick Fury, King Philip=Phil Coulson, Queen Maria= Maria Hill, Clint Barton=Clint Barton. King Andrew, Queen Victoria, and Queen Esmeralda= random people I made up on the spot. See ya!**

**-Tamealio**


	2. Prince Clinton Francis Barton

Of Royals and Men: Prince Clinton Francis Barton

**A/N: Hi guys I'm back. Thank you to**_**: Guest, A Weird Person, nightmoon1024, Rennier,**_** and **_**awisperthroughthewinds **_**for commenting. I am over powered with all of the positive feedback out of only the first chapter. This chapter is about Clint in the palace and how he feels about being royal.**

Prince Clinton Francis Barton. That was his name.

Prince Clinton Francis Barton. It wasn't such a bad name; not really. It might have passed his mind once or twice to get his middle name changed. I mean, come on; _Francis_? _Really_? But other than that he was ok with his name. In fact, he kind of liked his name. But for some reason the name just felt_ wrong._

No it wasn't the name that felt wrong. It was the title. The '_Prince'._

He wasn't a prince. No, not really. He had never earned that title. He wasn't born into the royal family. He wasn't of the royal blood line. Heck, before the accident, he wasn't even in line for the throne.

No, it was pure luck that got him here; sitting in an elegant room that he could call his own. His parents often said that he was lucky and that there were many other people in the world who were less fortunate than him. That there were people out there who would kill to have what he has; to be royal. Yes he is lucky. He is oh so very lucky. But he doesn't deserve that luck. Plus, it's only a matter of time until his luck runs out.

**A/N: that's it every body. Comment if you like and comment if you don't like. Remember constructive criticism only. I am looking for ideas on were to take this story so please contact me if you have any ideas. The next chapter will be pretty bunch the same idea but in Natasha's point of view. Reviews are love and they motivate me to write more. Bye!**

**-Tamealio**


	3. Princess Natasha Alianova Romanoff

**Hi everyone! Tamealio is back! Sorry if the wait was a little long but you're going to have to get used to it because winter break is officially over. Thanks to:** _**AngelofMischief,**_ _**Rennier **_**and loyal **_**nightmoon1024 **_**who has commented on every chapter this far (even though it's only been two). This chapter is about Natasha's life and a little bit about her father.**

**Also, in case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own The Avengers. If I did, there would totally be a Clintasha film in the making ;)**

Natasha was always told it was her fault.

Everything was her fault.

Her loneliness.

Her mother's death.

Her father's alcohol and drug addiction.

Her beatings every time her father's royal bartender made him a drink.

Her country, Russia's, financial and political problems; all her fault because her father was spending so much time trying to get her to be a successful ruler (apparently she was so incompetent that it was taking years).

Her trainings and her tortures every time she gets a move wrong or messes up in a training session.

Her father says that it is all for her wellbeing; that he will never hurt her. Once upon a time, she believed him. But that was years ago.

When King Ivan got the letter from America, asking for his daughter to take part in their selection, he was ecstatic.

Never, in his wildest dreams, did he think that a Royal family would ever accept her into their selection. After all, his daughter was not exactly a social butterfly.

Because of her trainings, she was hostile towards other people, especially men. Her mistrust and alert mind around others made him proud. It was a clear sign that her trainings had paid off.

But it was also a huge political disadvantage.

Ivan was already frowned upon by many of the monarchs around the world. A fierce, strong, and powerful daughter was also disapproved in a society where women were expected to just sit there and look pretty. Few men appreciated the value of a woman these days.

Because of this, Ivan never took his daughter to political meetings and rarely let her out of the castle. After all, political functions don't work to well when there's a knife against someone's throat.

When the world never saw head or tail of the Russian Princess, they began to gossip. Some said that the girl was deformed and King Ivan was too embarrassed to let the world see her. Others, with quarrels against the Russian Government, said that the king beat his daughter and wouldn't let others see her for fear that her bruised and bloodied face would reveal him to be the monster he really is.

They weren't half wrong. Most of the time she was either training or healing from broken bones and whip lashes.

Never the less, Ivan saw this as a way to fix other nations political views on him, his daughter, and his nation.

Yes, his daughter was going to win that decrepit princes heart or die trying.

**A/N: So that's it every body. Next chapter we will start the dialogue and interesting stuff. It's time to get on with the story. I plan to do the next chapter in Queen Marias point of view and maybe introduce some of Natasha's competition. Comment if you like and comment if you don't like. Just remember, constructive criticism only! Also reviews/comments + follows = motivation and love.**

**Bye**

_**Tamealio**_


	4. Queen Marias little Monkey

**A/N: Hi everybody! Tamealio is back with two words of wisdom. **_**LONG WEEKENDS. **_**Thank you to **_**Guest,**__**Number1Bookworm**_**, loyal **_**nightmoon1024**_**, and my dear friend **_**Perks Of Being A Book Nerd**_** for updating and bringing me joy.**

**I don't own the avengers. If I did there would totally be a Clintasha movie in the making. **

**Xxxxxxxx (line break) xxxxxxxx**

Maria loved her son. She really did. But some days she thought he was a three headed monkey on caffeine.

Like today.

Xxxxxx (Line Break) xxxxxx

Today was one the biggest days of eight year old Prince Clint life.

Today he was going to meet his future wife. **(A/N: ha ha that rhymes)**

But where was the young Prince?

I, Queen Maria, hadn't seen head or tail of the boy all day long.

After finishing up the details for the greeting of the princesses ceremony, I decided to go and make sure my son hadn't blown up half the castle in my absence.

Even though the preparations for the ceremony were fairly strait forward and simple, they ended up sucking away half the afternoon. That tended to happen when you had two top notch designers arguing about everything. For example, the curtain colour, the curtain fabric, the flower colour, the flower arrangements, and the colour scheme for the event in general. Plus Phil wasn't exactly here to help me because he was off making sure Yemen didn't go and blow up Somalia.

Ah the troubles of marrying a king.

Anyways, I decided to go and see how my son was fairing.

I had left him under the care of Loraine Macy, a trusted servant and family friend.

The woman had the patience of a saint. She had taken care of Phil when he was younger and that couldn't have been easy.

As I walked down the hall to the Princes room, to see if Loraine had managed to wrestle him into something suitable to wear, I heard a crash come from one of the nearby rooms. That room just so happened to be the Library.

I silently crept up to the door and pushed it slightly open. The sight that awaited me almost had me fainting in shock.

The Library was, as always, beautiful. The forty feet ceiling curved up in a dome with a huge chandelier hanging in the center. Bookshelves upon bookshelves lined the room and floor to ceiling window lit up the space.

There, standing at the foot of one of these windows, was Loraine. She had her hands on her hips and a surly scowl on her face. She was staring up at a large lump at the top of the window near the curtain rod.

Wait that wasn't a lump. That was Clint! The Eight year old boy had somehow managed to shimmy his way up to the top of the forty foot curtain.

By the looks of it he was having a difficult time trying to hold on. Apparently silk curtains are not the best to climb on.

All I wanted to do was to march in there and strangle my son but Loraine beat me to it.

"Get your little arse down here this instant!" Clint was lucky an eighty year old grandma was looking after him and not his own grandfather Nicholas; let's just say there would be a lot fowler language.

Clint, of course, just kept on trying to find foot holds in the slippery fabric and ignored her.

Loraine tired again. "Don't make me get your mother!"

Clint froze. His grip on the curtains slipped and he started to slide down the fabric.

My heart clenched in fear as I watched my son slip and breathed a sigh of relief when his hands found purchase and he climbed back up the fabric. I may dislike my son sometimes, but I still loved him with all my heart.

Clint fixed his maid with a challenging glare.

"You wouldn't "he said, eyes narrowed.

"Oh she would." I said, stepping out of the shadows, arms crossed.

"Ah, mother dearest…" he said with a look of panic on his face.

"So Clint, would you care to tell me why you are hanging from the top of a curtain, in the library, dressed only in your pajamas, _one hour _away from one of the biggest ceremonies of your entire life?!"I screeched.

Clint cringed under my gaze.

"Um…"

Before I could climb up there myself to strangle him, a warm and comforting arm wrapped around my waist, successfully restraining me.

"Before this turns into a full-fledged, nuclear war, let's all just take a deep breath." Phil's comforting voice echoes through the room.

"Daddy!" Clint slides down the curtain like it was a fireman's pole and raced into Phil's out stretched arms.

Phil swung him around once before putting him down gently.

"Go get cleaned up buddy." He said as he watched Clint run off to his room with Loraine.

He then turned to me and enveloped me in a hug. I let myself marvel at the warmth and safety I felt in his arms as he kissed my forehead.

"How's my little princess doing today?" He asked

I pulled away from his embrace and scowled up at him with my arms crossed.

"You let him get away with too much."

**A/N: So that's it everybody! Next chapter we will finally meet our Princesses. Should I make one of the Princesses be a total jerk? If your answer is yes you are in for a treat. I also need name ideas so please comment with a name. If you are going to suggest a name please also put the country the Princess is from. Remember I need 32 of these so be creative and suggest some exotic names from around the world. Also please don't go for the big, famous countries. Some are ok but I want to see some creativity people. Don't do France because I have someone lined up for that ;)**

**Tamealio**


	5. Future Monarchs and Multiple Personality

**A/N:Hello everybody! Thank you to **_**nightmoon1024,**__**Rennier**_** and**_** Perks Of Being A Book Nerd**_** for commenting. **

**I don't own the Avengers. If I did there would so be a Clintasha film in the making.**

_May 1, Year 1_ Maria's POV

Word to the wise…When meeting future monarchs, such as princesses, and their parents, be prepared for multiple personalities.

Xxxxxxxx (line break) xxxxxxxx

First came Daniele from Poland…

Daniele and her family arrived at around noon.

Daniele was a slightly plump, but sweet girl who had a big smile and an even bigger optimistic attitude.

I actually think she might have scared Clint with her forthcomingness.

Even though the rest of her family had bags under their eyes and some serious jetlag, Daniele marched right up to Clint with the biggest smile of all on her face and started talking away.

Poor Clint just stood there in shock as she blabbed on and on, nodding occasionally.

In fact, the girl didn't stop talking until her father picked her and dragged her away.

After she was gone, Clint turned to me with eyes as big as saucers.

"Mama," he said, his bottom lip trembling "No one should be able to talk that much."

Xxxxxxxx (line break) xxxxxx

Next came Mai Le from China.

Mai Le was wearing a red Qipao dress made of silk. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun. The bun had two crossed sticks with tassels on them stuck in it.

The girl was very fair and beautiful but she also looked vain and unhappy with these arrangements.

She took one look at Clint and turned up her nose with a defiant 'humph'. She then proceeded to walk right past him without any acknowledgments whatsoever.

Her father, who looked like a stiff and cold man, marched right after his daughter after throwing a discussed look at my family.

Xxxxxxxx (Line Break) xxxxxxxx

The princesses just kept coming

There was Saja from India…

Anna from Germany…

Ciara from Ireland…

Zoe from Scotland, who didn't seem to get along with Ciara from Ireland…

Bianca from Italy…

Valentina from Colombia…

Thea from Norway…

Chloe from Australia…

Christine from New Zealand…

Identical twins, Francisca and Isabella from Spain…

Cecilia from Brazil…

And so many more. There was no way I would be able to keep them all strait…

Xxxxxxxx (line break) xxxxxxxx

When a girl named Bobbi from France showed up, my head was swimming with all the names and faces of princesses I would have to remember.

Bobbi's hair was a bleach blonde colour and was done up in an elaborate up do almost as tall as she was.

Bobbi's dress was such an alarming and bright shade of pink it should be illegal. It also had one of those old fashioned poofs on the back that make your butt look extra big.

Bobbi's parents were quite the couple. Bobbi's mom looked like a blown up carbon copy of Bobbi, hair dress and all. Bobbi's father must have been a looker when he was younger, but now he looked like a sour man who was counting the days to his death.

Bobbi sauntered right up to Clint with an over confident smirk on her face. Apparently she was used to getting boys to do what she wanted.

The eight year old started to chat Clint up while leaning over slightly to give him a nice view of her nonexistent chest.

Bobbi's dad watched the scene indifferently, while her mom looked on proudly as she tried to seduce my son.

I have to say it was working.

I rolled my eyes and shooed the family out before Clint started drooling.

Xxxxxxxx (line break) xxxxxxxx

The last Princess to arrive was a quiet girl named Natasha from Russia.

Unlike all the other princesses, who were dressed in their nicest and fanciest clothes, Natasha wore a simple grass green dress, with white puffy sleeves and flowers embroidered at the bottom, that went down to her ankles. Her fiery red locks were pulled back in a simple braid that fell just between her shoulder blades.

She was so different from her preceder that it was scary.

Instead of her family accompanying her, the only person with Natasha was a small girl who looked to be about her age.

I don't know why but I suddenly liked this girl. A glance at Clint told me he too was intrigued.

"Where is your family sweetie?" I asked politely

Natasha looked at me as if to say 'how dare you call me sweetie', but it was the other girl was the one who answered me.

"His royal highness, King Ivan, could not attend today due to a series of unfortunate events." She said importantly. "Instead I, Princess Natasha's humble lady in waiting, am accompanying her today."

I was kind of surprised at the vocabulary this young girl had.

"Aren't you kind of young to be a lady in waiting?" Phil said

"Yes, yes I am." **(A/N he he he)**

"Right then. This way girls."

As Natasha passed me she muttered "Don't call me sweetie."

I smiled. This was going to be a long ten years.

**A/N: That's it! I hope you liked it. Thank you to all of the people who suggested names for the Princesses. Please send me a message if you have any ideas for the next chapter. Please review and comment. See ya!**

**P.S. - Abby, Daniele was modeled after you except for the plump part.**

**Tamealio **


	6. A Friendship is born

**Hi guys! Did anyone else enjoy the 3 and a half snow days? Thank you to** _**nightmoon1024**_**,** _**soccerstar0198**_**,** _**Rennier**_**, and** _**Perks Of Being A Book Nerd**_** for commenting. I hope you enjoy!**

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**May 2 Year 1**

I hate royals.

Every freaken last one of them.

There're spoiled.

There're pampered.

There're all invalids, just like my father.

Some would call me a hypocrite. Because I am one of them.

But I am nothing like them.

* * *

If you have never been to a political gala or royal ball, consider yourself lucky.

Trust me, you are not missing anything.

It's all just a bunch of old geezers in powdered wigs and hags in fluffy dresses, trying to look important and not reveal their antisocial tendencies.

The King and Queen decided to host a gala to celebrate us coming.

The King, unfortunately, couldn't make it to his own event…again.

His wife, Queen Maria, was trying to make do without him.

The Queen was walking around, going from country to country, trying to strike up a conversation with another royal family.

Unfortunately, she wasn't having much luck because all the monarchs were too busy glaring daggers at each other to pay her any attention.

Maria was a woman I would love to get to know.

She was beautiful and fair, a wonderful hostess, and a brilliant negotiator. But she was also strong willed, extremely multilingual, and a crafty strategist. She was an actual Queen whom her nation was proud of.

She wasn't some limp wet noodle on the end of an arm and her husband knew that. Phil knew he didn't have her on the end of his tight leash and yet he still loved her and cared about her.

Maria was who I wanted to be when I was older. I wanted to make my nation proud and serve my country with a faithful husband at my side who respects me and treats me like I'm an actual woman not a china doll.

I looked over at Maria's son, the man I'm going to have to win over.

He was currently ogling some French chick dressed in a puffy pink marshmallow.

So much for respect.

Most of the girls were huddled around Clint, mobbing him, but for some reason he was only paying attention to was Miss Marshmallow.

Great now I've got competition. Oh well, she'd kind of rubbed me the wrong way anyway.

The girls who weren't mobbing the Prince were pigging out at the buffet table.

The only girl not partaking in the activities was Mai Le, the girl from China.

She was standing all by herself in an empty corner.

I considered going over to talk to her but she was king of radiating hatred and negativity.

I radiate enough of that as it is and usually need someone who is positive and cheerful to counteract it, like my lady in waiting, Irene.

Irene was a Russian borne girl like me. She grew up in poverty and lost both her parents to illness at a young age.

My mother found her on our doorstep a week before I was born. After my mother died in child birth, my father, unsure of what to do with her, made her my lady in waiting.

She was my best friend and loyal to a fault. Irene was currently following me around in case I needed something, but I could see her eyeing the food.

I told her to help herself and then laughed when she practically dove into the chocolate pudding.

The gala was held in the royal court yard with spacious grounds and lots of gardens so I decided to explore.

One particularly winding path led me to a small clearing with a large fountain that had benches surrounding it. A singe lamp cast an eerie glow on the water, making it shimmer.

Sitting on one of the benches was a small girl.

She had long brown hair covering the majority of her face but I could just make out a glimpse of blue eyes underneath the brown.

The girl seemed to be drawing. She had colored pencils all over her lap and on the bench.

"You don't have to keep standing there you know," The girl called out, scaring me"I don't bite."

I laughed and walked toward to the bench.

After moving quite a few colored pencils out of my way, I sat down next to her.

"What are you drawing?" I asked her.

"Me and my sister." She held up the drawing.

It depicted two girls playing in a garden. The details were incredible! The girl was a very good artist.

"Your sister?" I asked

"Yeah," She pointed to the taller girl in the picture, "my older sister Amelia."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty."

I looked up at her.

"Is she married?" I asked

"Yeah, she got married to this a prince from Luxemburg, named Aiden, two years ago." She said solemnly

"Do you still hear from her?"

"I get letters occasionally, but I haven't seen her since the wedding." She held up the picture again "I was hoping to send this to her with my next letter."

After a moment of silence she added "I'm Christine by the way. I'm from New Zealand."

"Nice to meet you. I'm-"

"Natasha from Russia. Not too many people have that kind of red hair."

I laughed.

"I hate this." She said suddenly

"What?"

"This selection process."

"Why?"

"I don't want to end up like my sister…pulled away from my family and friends."

I sighed.

"I don't blame you there."

Christine and I talked for the remainder of the gala, trading stories and laughs about life back home.

It turns out, I found a kindred spirit amongst the spoiled invalids and puffy marshmallows.

I found myself a friend.

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**A/N: Thank you to **_**nightmoon1024 **_**for giving me the idea for this chapter. Happy Super Bowl Sunday everyone. Make shore you watch the half time show and the commercials. Comment and tell me what was your favorite commercial or part of the game. Hope you liked it!**

_**Tamealio**_


	7. The Marshmallow Next Door

**A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you to **_**Nom de Plume, nightmoon1024**_**, **_**Breanna**_**, **_**soccerstar0198**_**, **_**Perks Of Being A Book Nerd**_**, **_**and Black Widow and**__**Hawkeye OTP**_** for reviewing. I am overwhelmed with feedback from this story! 29 follows and counting! I hope you like!**

* * *

**I don't own The Avengers**

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**Natasha's POV**

**May 2 year 1**

After the party, some house servant led Irene and I to a separate floor of the castle with the rest of the girls.

As I looked around, I realized that I probably had the smallest procession out of all the girls.

Many girls had both their parents, personal stylists and at least 10 servants to add to the mix.

I looked over at Irene. It was just the two of us, all alone in a great big castle, in a different country, with no one we knew except each other.

Talk about nightmares.

The servant stopped at one of the big wooden doors on the hall. This door had my name carved into it.

The servant took out a small key before unlocking it and handing the key to me.

Instead, Irene made to take it from him.

The man looked tiny, frail Irene up and down before shrugging and handing the key to her and then walking away.

I slowly pushed the door open and we both gasped in amassment.

The room was simple but elegant and dramatic at the same time.

The cream colored walls were hung with pictures of Irene and I back in Russia.

The camera had somehow caught one of my rare smiles that only happened on Saturdays when I was given the day off from training.

They reminded me of home.

A full length mirror stood next to a walk-in closet. I walked over and gazed at myself in it.

I looked so different in a full length mirror than in my tiny hand held one back in Russia.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Back track…

A FREAKING WALK-IN CLOSET!

I peered into it and found rows and rows of dresses, shoes, and accessories.

Ball gowns, dressing gowns, day dresses, night dresses, night gowns, even house coats, this closet had them all, but as I searched throughout the closet, searching through every single rack and in every nook and cranny, I could not find a single pair of _pants_.

This was going to be a long stay.

A giant four-poster bed sat in the center of the room. The thing had to be at least a Queen, if not a King sized bed.

A large bathroom sat of to the side with the biggest bath tub I had ever seen in side.

A small room for Irene was nestled next to the bathroom.

At the end of the room two floor-to-ceiling glass doors led out onto a balcony.

The balcony had an amazing view of the court yard gardens where I met Christine and if you looked hard enough you could just see the twinkling lights of the city just outside the palace walls.

The balcony doors had two white curtains hanging from them.

The curtains were flowy and silky like the ones in the movies where the hero and the Princess are together in a beach house with the wind blowing the curtains in the morning.

As I looked out from the balcony I could hear screaming from the next room.

I could hear little miss marshmallow yelling at her servants.

Oh great, I had _her _as a neighbor.

"Ugh" she screamed as she stormed out onto the balcony "this is a quarter of the size of my room back in France. They could at least have the decency to give me bigger one!"

I watched her stomp around her balcony in rage.

I leaned over the balcony.

"Appreciate what you have, sweetheart "I said sarcastically

She whipped her head around to face me.

"Look you brat," she said harshly "I don't know who you are and I don't care, but all I know is that you're some washed up Princess from some third world country who won't last a week in this competition. I don't know why they choose some horse faced loser like you but they did so why don't you go and enjoy the luxuries while you still can because I can guarantee you'll be gone by the end of tomorrow. You don't belong here so get out of my face and stay out of my way!" She stormed back inside with a huff.

Did that female dog (trying to keep it PG until she's at least 15) just call Russia, the largest country in the world, a third world country?

Oh that girl was going to get it!

I whirled around to head inside when I saw Irene standing in the door way. Her petite frame looked even smaller against the huge room.

"Do not listen to her Princessa." she said in heavily accented English "You are not horse faced. You are beautiful."

I smiled.

Irene somehow always makes me feel better.

"It is time for bed моя сладкая принцесса."

'_My Sweet Princess'_

That is her nickname for me and it always makes me feel at home.

I pulled on some pj's and climbed into bed with sleep in the forefront of my mind.

But of course it's kind of hard to sleep with a screaming pink marshmallow next door.


	8. First Elimination

**A/N:**** Hi everyone! Happy Valentine's Day! After another awesome snow week I decided to post early. Did anyone else enjoy this awesome week? Please comment with your weekly drama stories. Here is mine: I was sledding in my backyard and I ran into the fence post. I've also got a wicked bruise the size of my fist to show for it. Thanks to**_** nightmoon1024**_**, **_**Perks Of Being A Book Nerd**_**, and **_**soccerstar0198**_** for commenting!**

* * *

**May 23 Year One**

* * *

**Clint's POV**

Girls are not Princesses.

Women are Princesses.

I refuse to call the 32 crazies running around my house Women.

Because they are not.

These weird, emotional, cootie-filled monsters are not Princesses.

I have serious doubts on whether some of them will ever be.

Luckily, soon I will be rid of three of them.

But which ones to choose…

After living with the "Princesses" for a few weeks, I am now expected to make the first year elimination.

In the next 10 years I will spend two weeks with each girl every year. Then we will all meet together at my palace for a week before I announce who is eliminated. We were eliminating three girls now and starting that arrangement next year.

God, my life is really starting to sound like a reality TV show.

Daniele is obviously going…that girl has more crazy than a rabid squirrel.

But who else?

Mae Le seems so mean and icy but that may be because I just met her.

Conii from Chile (Its pronounced Connie) is really sweet but she is also very needy and cries a lot.

Mom says that a good Queen must be strong in the face of danger but she also must be kind and caring.

Kind of contradicting yourself there mom.

Isolda, from Peru, is strong and so is that girl named Natasha from Russia.

Mom seems to really like Natasha.

She's always talking about her. Sometimes I think she may be dropping hints.

Then again, she also does that with the girls she doesn't like as well.

Dad says that I have to find a smart girl as well as a pretty one but that smarts should always come first.

I guess I should listen to him.

After all, he did pick Mom.

Mom, who is originally a Princess from Greece, is the prettiest woman in the world and the awesomest too.

What other woman could make grown men shake in their boots with hardly a word and without raising her voice, but can still charm the socks off them if need be.

I bet Bobbi could do that…

Dad also says not to jump to conclusions so I guess we'll just half to wait and see.

I looked back at my list of Princesses thinking about all freaking 32 of them one, at a time.

It slowly clicked into gear and I decided whom to boot off.

Yup, serious reality TV.

* * *

Natasha's POV

Christine and I were walking slowly through the gardens.

The gardens turned out to be much bigger than we expected, so we were just wandering through the mazes of hedges aimlessly.

It turns out that the garden is a very popular place on Saturdays so we were joined by the entire population of Princesses in The Castle.

Majka, from Serbia, was sitting by a flower garden.

She insisted on smelling every single flower and then moved on to a different flower bed to do the exact same thing, giving a whole new meaning to the phrase "stop and smell the roses".

Bobbi had managed to find other girls up there with her on the female dog o-meter.

Her little clique consisted of four girls, including herself.

The first girl's name was Narcia, the Princess of Austria.

Because I spoke almost every single language here, thanks to my training, I can personally tell you that Narcia means _Numbness_ in Austrian.

The second girl's real name was Ecaterina, from Romania. Ecaterina means _Pure _in Romanian.

Ecaterina was anything but pure and apparently she agreed with me because she made everyone call her Daciana or _Wolf_ in Romanian.

That name was much better suited to her.

The last girl was the princess of Peru.

Her name was Isolda which means _Ice Ruler_ in Peruvian.

The group was huddled together whispering and throwing menacing glances my way.

Ciara and Zoe had almost immediately become friends but those two were the most indecisive people I have ever met.

In the five minutes I had been in their area I had seen them defriend, become friends again and then defriend each other again.

Irene was waiting by the door to the palace.

I had told her to take a break and relax but she refused to leave.

I will deny ever saying that I was secretly relieved for her to have my back or that I still get lost on the way to breakfast, but it's true.

What can I say?

You eat in your room in Russia.

Especially when your own father is so embarrassed of the failure you've become, that he can't bear to look at you.

Life's tough.

Luckily after today, I will be leaving paradise to go back to a hell hole where I will learn to seduce this discussing boy I'm not in love with.

Well it's seduce him or be killed.

Yay me.

Father will be so proud.

* * *

The Eliminated:

Daniele from Poland…

Zafira from Tunisia…

Hoa from Vietnam…

* * *

END OF YEAR ONE!


	9. Return to Paradice

**Hi guys! I'm sorry for not updating last week! My family was on vacation and my baby, Isolda (my computer, named that because she freezes all the time), was not brought with us :,(. Thanks to **_**Guest**_**, **_**nightmoon1024**_**, **_**EmpressOfAwesome**_**, and **_**evilunicorn11**_** for commenting! I 3 you guys! I just realized that my typing skills have gotten a lot better since I started this story. Weird.**

**I do not own the avengers. If I did there would so be a Clintasha film in the making!**

**YEAR TWO! June 1**

* * *

I hit the punching bag again.

I felt sick from over exertion and my head felt groggy because I had only had four hours of sleep last night.

Still I punched the bag with no mercy, my hands feeling numb from the force.

I could just barely hear the instructor shouting in Russian.

"Удар сильнее вас придурком. Вы девушка слабаком, удар сильнее или будет использовать вас в качестве боксерской грушей!" *Punch harder you wimp. You weakling girl, punch harder or I will use you as a punching bag!*

But even his voice was starting to fade away as the edges of my vision turned black and I crumpled to the floor.

My brain just barely registered the pain as the instructor began kicking me in an effort to get me up.

I acted more out of muscle memory than of movement and in a second I had swept his feet out from under him and had broken his foot.

The instructor screamed in pain and began punching, kicking, and scratching me, bent on revenge.

I just curled into a tighter ball in an effort to make him stop just as my vision turned completely black.

* * *

When I awoke, I was back in my dreary prison cell of a room.

My lamp, the only souse of light, shined softly in the cool air.

A quick glance around the room revealed Irene, kneeling at my bedside.

In one hand she held a grimy wet cloth that she was periodically running across my face, neck and hands.

My knuckles were bloody from the punching bag and they began to throb as the adrenalin wore off.

The cloth looked heavily laden with blood and Irene had to keep wringing out the blood into the bucket of water she was using to wet the cloth. Nasty.

I groaned and tied to sit up, immediately regretted it.

A quick self-assessment told me I had a bruised rib and a broken nose judging by the blood. I also might have broken a finger or two. No biggie.

Irene was mumbling in Russian cursing the instructor and complaining about the horrible hygiene and how this whole thing was extremely unsanitary.

Luckily it was now Sunday so I had the day off.

It's not like I could do anything but at least there were no trainings.

After I had come back from America last summer, I had found training particularly hard.

Somehow I had gotten out of shape and was now paying dearly for it.

And with my visit this summer soon approaching, the trainers were pushing me extra hard to make up for the three week break I was going to have.

They still wouldn't let me off that easy though.

I was put under careful observation and was told I could only eat a certain amount of food and had to do strenuous exercise twice a day.

At the time I didn't get what the problem was. I had always been naturally thin but was underweight because I didn't get enough nutrition.

While I was in America I had to be in the gym at five AM and six PM daily. One of the instructors would video chat me and yell at me in Russian to guide me through my training.

On Sundays I was expected to be in the Gym constantly unless I was invited to go some were with the royal family. The prince always came first in my father's book.

* * *

I was leaving on Monday to get away from this hell hole.

I hadn't really packed anything because I don't own any dresses and my father sure as heck wasn't going to let me bring any pants.

Luckily I have a very dedicated lady in waiting who was willing to smuggle a few pairs of sweats and jeans for me to exercise in.

Some people are true diamonds and jewels in your life.

Make sure you recognize and appreciate them while there still here.

* * *

On Monday morning, I woke up early and attempted to get cleaned up.

I washed my face, put on a nice shirt and a pair of old jeans.

Irene even attempted to wash my hair, which wasn't going to happen with nothing but bloody water, and pulled the unruly curls into a tight bun.

In the Red Room we have a rule about hair. It's either in a bun, a braid or it's on the floor. Trainers will go around cutting your hair off if you have any wisps on your face.

After you wear your hair like that for years, it becomes a habit and I knew my trainers would yell at me over Skype if they saw my hair out of place or if my father received a picture of me with my hair down.

We boarded it royal plane and took off from Moscow at five AM.

The ride was a long period of awkward silence and being briefed on seduction tips. I was under constant surveillance so I couldn't talk to Irene about anything.

We arrived in New York around six PM.

Americans are either super cautions or just love to show off their military strength and security.

Irene and I were greeted by at least twenty secret service men and then we were ushered into one of those fancy limos with a TV and a refrigerator.

Irene and I were to busy gazing at the mile-high buildings and amazing architecture to notice though.

We drove for at least half an hour through beautiful country side until we finally arrived at the palace.

The Queen and Prince were waiting for me at the front hall.

Maria was as kind and welcoming as her reputation suggested.

Clint was quiet and stony, observing rather than engaging. This was defiantly going to be awkward.

When I got to my room, I literally ran and jumped on the bed.

Then of course, as fate would have it, Queen Maria chose that exact moment to walk in the room.

"Having fun are we?" She laughed

I jumped up, straitened my shirt, and got ready for a scolding.

"I…I'm sorry your majesty. I just-"

She laughed again.

"I understand. You must be tired. Take a shower and get some rest. I will see you in the morning."

I sighed in relief when she walked out.

How could someone so sophisticated and disciplined be so kind? Didn't she have rules like that of the Red Room growing up?

I decided to mull over it later and got ready to take a shower.

I hadn't had a real hot shower in a long time and when the water cascaded over my body it felt like heaven. Not that I believed in Heaven.

The warm water cleared my mind and made me think about Clint.

I had to find a way to crack that shell of silence.

I would be his friend first. The romance would come on its own later.

He was still young to be making romantic decisions and he probably still thought girls have cooties.

After all, a boy and a girl can just be friends but sooner or later they will fall for each other.

It may be too soon.

It may be too late.

Or it may be forever.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Comment and review.**


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